Chapter Text
The usual hustle and bustle of Dystopia made Henry uncomfortable in the silence of a Swellview law firm. Phones rang from back offices. Footsteps were muffled in the dark, diamond-patterned carpet. A hushed meeting took place a few doors down. But for all the noise, it was the quietest place Henry had been since he packed his bags and shut his bedroom door for the last time.
In Dystopia, the neighbors yelled at all hours of the night. The streets were alive through the early hours of the morning. Sleep was a myth. Crime never rested. He couldn’t remember how many years ago he’d moved there. He couldn’t remember how long it had been since he helped Newtown establish proper safety measures, or since Missy had been old enough to find him again on her own. He returned to Dystopia to make things right with Jasper, who had stopped communicating for a while until Henry couldn’t take it anymore.
Henry bounced his legs and wrung his hands, his head down as he exhaled through pursed lips, a fruitless attempt to keep the nausea at bay. He tried not to be too honest with himself, but the fact remained: he didn’t know why he was there. Piper leaned heavily against his shoulder, arms crossed, chin tense and quivering, bottom lip chapped, bitten, and bloody, eyes focused on the wall across from her. He had agreed to be there for her as emotional support. To Piper’s right sat their mother, her elbow resting on the arm of the chair, thumbnail between her teeth, eyes darting suspiciously between the door, Uncle Mark, who sat against the other wall with his head in his hands, and Henry, the only person there without cause.
"Ms. Hart…"
In the shade of the dimmed office, Henry could almost believe the bags under Kris' eyes were from crying for a while. Then, she stood and the late afternoon sun shone golden across her face, broken by the vertical blinds and the building acting as the horizon that chopped the light just under her nose. Her tear stains were accented by smudged eyeliner and streaks down her cheeks lighter than her foundation. Her eyes drained of suspicion, of anything to indicate the feelings she'd been carrying all day, leaving her looking like she hadn't slept in three days; based on what Piper told him, she hadn't. Her neutral expression kept most of her face lines to a minimum. Henry couldn't help wondering when her roots had gone gray.
Jake's lawyer, Mr. Walsh, stood by the conference room in a stiff gray suit, the door propped open by the toe of his shiny brown oxford. One by one, he called their small party, putting a name to each face as they stood. Once Piper and Kris disappeared into the room, Henry stood to make his exit, content to walk around until their meeting was over. He was there because Piper asked him to be, and he'd be there again when she returned.
"Henry Hart," Mr. Walsh stopped him in his tracks. It had been a long time since Henry had been a Hart, or that he'd been acknowledged as such. He hadn't expected his name to be on the list either. Henry stood frozen in a standoff with Mr. Marcus Walsh, a man with a title and intimate knowledge of his family. A man who knew Henry by name, though he hadn't been dad's lawyer until after the divorce, until after Schwoz had— he couldn't finish the thought. He stood in front of the man who conjured up his past in two words, and his feet moved on their own, past Mr. Walsh and into the conference room.
The crisp autumn entryway air gave way to stuffy, claustrophobic heat and silence that made the electrical buzz of the lights sound like screams. The tension in his mother's face as he sat down next to Piper suffocated the room further. Mr. Walsh checked off his list, glanced at the group in attendance, and let the door close behind him as he trudged toward the table with a noticeable limp that was instantly met with unspoken discomfort and pity from their party. The focus quickly turned to the small pile in front of the lawyer: two envelopes—a large goldenrod rectangle, and a smaller white one—and a small safe.
"Good afternoon, Mrs. Hart, Piper. Nice to see you both, despite the circumstances. For those of you who don't know me," Mr. Walsh split his attention between uncle Mark at the front of the table next to him, and Henry, who already knew him by name from the last time Piper had to attend a meeting with Jake. "I am Marcus Walsh. I represented Jake during a difficult period in his life, and with some persistence on his end, we've become close. It was an honor to know Jake for the man he was professionally and personally, a fun, goofy family man and a serious, hard worker in the same beat. I am honored to carry out his final wishes today. May they offer solace in this time of grief."
Henry tucked his hands into his pockets and focused on the awkwardness of the position. His elbows stuck out a bit at his sides. His knees knocked together as his posture changed. The fabric of his slacks shifted against itself with the knock, the sound so grating he felt the vibration settle in his teeth while his body screamed with pins and needles. It distracted him from the silence that followed Mr. Walsh's speech and the strange, intense awkwardness that pecked at his brain when uncle Mark cleared his throat and shifted, the chair squeaking under his weight.
Piper got the house. The reasons cited were general upkeep and good money management, on top of her visiting regularly. Henry would have if he'd had the choice. The decision wasn't out of left field; Jake always made sure Henry knew he was loved, but Piper was the material kid and thus, easier to spoil. With the house, she was granted most of his possessions, with exceptions to his sewing kit, pictures of himself with his side of the family at various life stages, and his navy uniform in fear that she might use it as a prop. For all the years since Henry had seen him, his bluntness hadn't faltered once.
Mr. Walsh pulled something from the safe, wrapped in tissue paper, with a note taped to it. Sniffle the sick bear was there through all your sadness from the moment I first held you. You'll probably need him now. Piper's fingers twitched, her jaw clenching and unclenching as she took the tissue paper bundle and placed it in front of her, her stoicism wavering. She refused to look at it, probably didn't entertain the thought of opening it. Henry thought back on the last time he'd seen that bear. Piper was eight. She'd been sent home early from a sleepover over a tantrum. She'd thrown it across the room, claiming she was too old for toys.
Kris grumbled something under her breath, as if she couldn't be heard in the pin-drop silence of the small room, and scribbled on a notepad in her lap. Henry guessed she was mad about the house. It had been over a decade since she and Jake had divorced, and the updates were rolling in from Piper during holidays and after college. The prenup had a clause, suggested by mom herself, that the house would remain in both their names as long as they were married. Should one person vacate, the house would go to the person who was still keeping up with it. Should both vacate, they would sell and split the profit. Kris had been with her tennis instructor—which Henry had realized long ago had only started out that way—for weeks before she even filed, having forgotten that little bit of the agreement until their lawyers met. The house and all of its expenses were transferred solely to Jake, which meant she couldn't contest.
Uncle Mark was gifted anything in the house that Piper was barred to, with the requirement that he check in regularly so Piper wasn't alone. Piper would never be alone, Henry reasoned, especially not for the first month. He'd taken his leave with her in mind. His friends could wait him out. They sent their condolences. Jasper even mailed a card for Piper with three easy recipes and a code for one of those meal delivery websites. It was a message for her to stay strong, and his way of taking care of her from across an ocean.
Mr. Walsh reopened the safe and pulled out a small, velvet box, similar to the ring box Kris had kept out on her nightstand for years. As Henry looked closer, he realized that was exactly what it was, a sliver of paper poking out of the side. It was the only thing he'd left for her, his wedding ring. It felt like a cruel joke, and exactly the type of thing he'd have passed off as unwitting. Mr. Walsh placed the ring box in front of Kris and murmured, loud enough for everyone to hear, yet quiet enough to hold some weight, "Per will instructions, you are not allowed to open that until you're out of the building."
Kris tensed as her eyes settled on the curve of ink just poking out in the corner. Whatever was in that box, he didn't want everyone to know. Or maybe he did, and that's exactly why he gave it to her. She wasn't exactly known for a closed mouth. Everything young bad-apple Piper knew about gossiping came directly from the tree she fell from.
Then, Mr. Walsh turned a curious eye on Henry, and Henry felt the energy in the room shift. His mother looked at him like he'd slapped her before Mr. Walsh made so much as a noise.
"You have got to be kidding me!" Kris exclaimed. "He's in there too? No one even knows who he is!"
Henry winced and swallowed the quickly forming lump in his throat. He was as confused as she was, and it made sense that he wouldn't be in there for more than emotional support. But the truth, now spoken out loud for the first time since he was eighteen, felt like he'd been hit over the head with an indestructible brick. She was right: they didn't know him at all. Piper did, but only because she'd been spared and found the good side of a bad egg.
"Ms. Hart, please," Mr. Walsh held a hand out toward her, a gesture for calm.
"I got this dinky little box from my ex-husband."
"And I'm sure that's greatly upsetting, ma'am."
"No, what's upsetting is now you're telling me that some stranger that I've never met before is getting more than I did from someone I actually had a connection with."
"Mom!" Piper interjected.
Uncle Mark looked bewildered, offering Henry a confused glance over his mother's hostility.
"I haven't said anything, actually." Mr. Walsh's impatience knocked his professionalism down a peg, though it did nothing to comfort Henry as Kris stood up to leave, the ring box snatched off the table hard enough to make him flinch.
They continued to debate. Kris headed for the door while Mr. Walsh clung to the rope he hung from, paused to respond, and continued in a pattern until she was out the door, a twisted game of red light, green light that no one bothered to talk over or stop, while Henry found himself back in the Man's Nest, carrying a load of laundry and giving Ray some bullshit excuse for the reason he was there.
"Actually, I came to see you."
Ray played it off with hugs and over-excitement. Being hunted meant that the Man's Nest was the safest place for him. But he had wanted to visit his parents while they were in Swellview. He was turned away at the door. Actually, he was turned away in the living room.
"Sorry, Piper's not here."
Henry had walked into the house to find Jake sitting on the couch. Their house was no stranger to parties of four to eight kids at any given time. What Henry thought was a polite "Your sister's coming home, but she's not here yet", had actually been "are you one of Piper's friends?" and he hadn't even known until he tried to hug his father. He'd been shoved away and threatened out the door with his father's Naval rank and carrying permit.
During his stay at the Man's Nest, Henry found a moment without Ray, during which he'd stumbled upon what looked like the memory wiper that had been thrown into the Swellview streets and smashed into pieces the moment it hit the road. At least, he'd assumed it had. But there it was. Ray clearly hadn't known about it; it would not have been in a Schwoz hidey-hole if he had. But knowing how trigger-happy Ray was, he wouldn't have been surprised.
From there, it wasn't hard to piece together what had happened, and he'd confirmed it with Piper later, as she had remained close with Schwoz and regularly engaged him in conversation. Schwoz had gone on to piece the memory wiper back together at Ray's behest, and he'd managed to get enough power to it to wipe a few more memories before needing to rebuild the whole thing from scratch. He had wiped Kris and Jake clean of all things Captain Man associated, from the hero and his identity, to his sidekick and his identity. Piper explained it as an association game of the brain, and the kicker? "I didn't tell you because I didn't want you to be mad." They didn't talk for three weeks after that.
"I am so sorry about that," Piper's voice snapped him back to the present. Her eyes were wide and worried, locked on his own. "Are you okay?"
Henry glanced at Mr. Walsh, who added an apology of his own that Henry didn't hear. Kris was gone. Uncle Mark had gotten up and was stood at the door to follow and hesitated before running after her anyway. Now, Piper and Henry were alone with Mr. Walsh and Henry's body continued to coil up like a spring. He gave Piper a tight nod and pushed down the lump in his throat, which settled like an open pit in his stomach, hollow with grief and yearning for both of his parents.
Mr. Walsh stifled a sigh, announced by the slump of his shoulders, and continued as if the unfolded drama hadn't happened at all. He pulled the last item out of the safe, poorly gift-wrapped in newspaper with two sticky notes. The first one was marked FRAGILE in bold red crayon, probably the first writing implement Jake had found. The second one, Mr. Walsh read aloud.
"For Henry. I don't know who you are, but there was a time when I did."
Henry took the bundle from Mr. Walsh, confusion warring with anxiety. It was small and uneven, but heavy and soft, like a well-loved paperback book.
Mr. Walsh continued, "Mr. Hart requests that you wait until you're alone to open it."
Henry nodded absently as his eyes landed on a spot in the seam that he could easily stick his finger into, and suddenly he had an itch in his fingertips that he couldn't scratch until he was away from prying eyes, per his father's last request. He and Piper left with their belongings after thanking Mr. Walsh and apologizing again for their mother's behavior.
Henry thought his last stressor of the day would be sitting in Piper's passenger seat. When she handed him the keys, it felt like a kindness born out of pity. He tried to focus on the road while his eyes watered reflexively at every sniffle out of Piper. He wanted to tell her to shut up. She was making the whole situation depressing. At the same time, he wanted to lean over and hug her, cry with her, and believe that she wouldn't immediately stop when he started. Piper couldn't share an emotion. Henry couldn't tease it away. But there was something he could do.
Henry took a right turn, away from their street. Piper's reaction could've been mistaken for a shift for comfort's sake, the way her knees straightened out and her eyes snapped from her window to look at the street through the windshield instead.
"Where are we going?" she asked, her wavering voice heavy with poorly-hidden grief.
Henry swallowed thickly and blinked, the battle with his forming tear lost as it rolled down his cheek. He stubbornly wiped it away with his jacket sleeve. "I need a drink."